


The Reason We Try

by incorrectbatfam



Series: Bluepulse Week 2020 [3]
Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Parents, Angst, Bluepulse Week 2020, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24888259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: It wasn’t that he hated kids, it was just that he didn’t see himself fit to be a father.(Bluepulse Week 2020 – Day 3: Firsts)
Relationships: Bart Allen/Jaime Reyes
Series: Bluepulse Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798045
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	The Reason We Try

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Mom Thinks You're Cute](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/637291) by ellana-ravenwood. 



> This is tangentially related to the theme of "firsts" so I'm just gonna go with that.
> 
> Also thank you @bisexualoftheblade for being an all-star beta.

Step one: go to med school.

Step two: become a doctor.

Step three: move to a new city after receiving a job offer.

Step four: …bump into a kid and spill his drink?

That was how Jaime’s first Monday in Central City was going.

He discarded the now-empty iced coffee cup. It was a miracle none of it spilled on him or the child who rammed headfirst into his shins. The thirty-year-old mumbled a string of apologies as he searched the sidewalk, wondering where this kid’s family was. She had to have parents somewhere, right? Jaime refused to let a little girl wander the busy streets by herself.

Finding her guardian was easy enough. Her pale skin was dotted with freckles like a pointillist painting and her poofy auburn hair was almost the size of the rest of her tiny body. It wasn’t a far stretch to guess she was related to the long-haired, freckled man fumbling with a parking meter. 

Jaime tapped the man’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me,” he said. “Is this your kid by any chance?”

The man turned to look at Jaime, but more importantly at the girl. Relief washed over his face as he scooped her up in his arms.

“Oh thank god!” he exclaimed. “Melanie Iris Allen, you know better than to run off like that.”

“But Daaaaaad,” the girl whined, “You said we were going to the toy store and I already know where it is.”

Jaime chuckled awkwardly. “Kids, full of energy, _sí_?”

The man smiled and Jaime’s stomach did a mini leapfrog. 

“You have them too?” he asked. 

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t even have a partner.”

An expression flashed across the redhead’s face but it was too quick to catch.

“That makes two of us.”

There was that leapfrog again. It disappeared almost as soon as it surfaced.

The guy continued, extending the hand that wasn’t holding his kid. “The name’s Bart. And this lil’ rascal is Melanie.”

Jaime accepted the handshake. “Jaime Reyes.”

“That’s a cool name. Is it Spanish?”

“Yeah, my family’s Mexican.”

“It’s cooler than mine. I’m named after my grandpa. He was–”

“DAAAAAAD!”

Bart’s attention snapped back to Melanie. 

“Right. Toy store.” He turned back to Jaime. “I gotta run. I promised her a new kite. But before I go…” he fished a phone from his pocket and handed it to Jaime, “why don’t we grab lunch sometime? As a thank you for bringing her back to me.”

A huge grin broke out on Jaime’s face as he typed his number. He handed the phone back to Bart.

He replied, “ _Sí_ , I’d like that very much.”

***

In the hours leading up to and during their first date, Jaime learned a lot about Bart.

Bart talked fast. And not the fast that Jaime knew with patients rattling off their WebMD self-diagnosis, nor the fast that he remembered his younger sister gossiping on the phone in. Bart talked _fast_.

Bart was a double texter. A triple texter, a quadruple texter, sending a flurry of information as they planned their lunch meeting for the very next day. And he was both careful and careless—he rearranged his work schedule but forgot to bring his wallet. Jaime didn’t mind paying, though.

Bart was simultaneously laid-back and high-strung. He wore bright colors and pulled his hair back in a bun and had eyes like a kaleidoscope composed of different shades of green. He worked as a lab assistant in Central City’s forensics lab and his favorite food was Chicken Whizzies and he thought Hollywood blockbusters were overrated and he held the record time in the Metropolis Marathon and hated peanut butter (but his daughter loved it) and Jaime wasn’t sure how to keep up with all of this. It made his head spin. He found himself wanting to know more.

But Jaime learned the most important thing about Bart the moment their date was over. 

It was a simple phone call, a conversation that lasted under twenty seconds. 

In a flash, Bart threw his jacket on and said to Jaime, “Can we take a raincheck? Melanie’s school called, she got sick ‘cause of a classmate.”

Jaime stood up too, saying, “Your car’s still at your workplace, right?”

Bart cursed under his breath. “You’re right. I took the bus here.”

The older man dug through his pocket for his keys. “You give me directions, I’ll give you both a ride.”

The redhead looked at Jaime incredulously but also clearly touched, like he never had a date act like a gentleman before. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I’ll remind you she is sick.”

Jaime waved it off. “I’m a doctor. I removed a spike from someone’s neck this morning.”

“That’s disgusting but also cool,” Bart said. “Where’s your car? You can tell me the story on the way.”

Three hours and a spoonful of cough syrup later, Bart quietly shut a light orange bedroom door decorated with a rhinestone-encrusted “M” and Disney princess stickers.

“She’s sleeping now,” Bart whispered. “She should be fine by morning, but I’ll let her take the day off tomorrow just to be safe. It’s first grade, not like she’ll miss anything.”

The apartment was small, so it wasn’t like Jaime could get lost. He took it all in. Around the living room were countless framed photos. All the pictures featured the same father-daughter duo. Some included other gingers that Jaime inferred to be Bart’s relatives. Others had friends—other mothers and fathers and small children. None showed indications of a partner, female or male. He turned his focus back to the other man.

“ _Lo siento_ ,” he said. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Bart laughed. “Man, you can’t snoop when it’s out in the open. Curiosity’s nothing to apologize for.”

In the half-day they knew each other, that was the biggest difference Jaime found between them. He apologized for every little thing; Bart didn’t, especially not for what was important to him. 

Jaime didn’t mind being second priority. 

Bart’s gaze went from Jaime to the nearest photo frame. He picked it up, strolling to the couch.

“Her first speed skating tournament,” he sighed, thumb brushing the photo of the little girl, dressed in red and beige, proudly showing her participation medal. “Her instructor took the photo. I couldn’t be there—police came across a major crime scene that had to be processed straight away.”

“I’m… I’m sorry you had to miss it,” Jaime murmured. “Was there… was there not anyone else?”

Bart shook his head. “I sent my friend Kon to pick her up, but he didn’t get there until after the show.”

“What happened to her mother?”

Jaime cursed himself for suddenly blurting that without thinking if it was a sensitive topic. There had to be a reason none of the photos included a second parent.

“Sorry,” he backtracked, “I didn’t mean– _ay Díos mio_.”

Bart set the frame on the tiny coffee table. “No worries, everyone asks that. Her mother… I’m not sure. I was only twenty-one when Melanie was dropped at my doorstep. At the time, I was still in college and I guess you can say I had a lot of hookups. I don’t know who the mother is. Doesn’t help that Melanie takes after her father’s good looks.”

Jaime chuckled. “Can’t deny that.”

“Y’know,” the younger man said, “Most people would’ve gone running at this point.”

Jaime’s eyebrows furrowed. “And why’s that?”

“No one sticks around when they find out I have a kid.”

Jaime swallowed thickly. Maybe some people weren’t ready. Maybe some weren’t able. He didn’t like how he could justify all those people’s reasons for leaving. It wasn’t that he hated kids, it was just that he didn’t see himself fit to be a father. 

“ _Ellos son estúpidos_ ,” he said. 

He hadn’t noticed how close they were. Not an inch existed between their bodies on the sofa. Jaime lightly caressed Bart’s cheek.

“May I?” he whispered.

Bart nodded.

Jaime closed his eyes the moment they bridged the gap.

People always talked about sparks flying and burning like a wildfire. No one told Jaime that they gave way to softly burning embers. Like a campfire after the songs and s’mores are over, the kiss kept them warm. Jaime could bask in it for all eternity.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

The two jumped back, eyes meeting the little girl who was now in pajamas, holding a stuffed bunny.

“Nothing, pumpkin,” Bart said. “Aren’t you supposed to be napping?”

“I was gonna say I’m hungry, but not anymore after seeing that,” Melanie sassed. “You know boys have cooties, right?”

The redhead picked up his daughter. “You know I’m a boy, right?”

“That’s even worse. It’s, like, double cooties.”

Bart sent a smile that made Jaime melt a little, saying, “You’ve done a lot today so I won’t make you, but… do you wanna stay for dinner?”

It was contagious, and Jaime was smiling back. “ _Sí_ , I’d like that very much.”

***

The first time Jaime picked up Melanie (other than the first date) was a month into his relationship with Bart. 

It was a slow day at his office and extremely busy at Bart’s. Jaime got the call from his boyfriend at quarter past noon.

“What’s up, _cariño_?”

“Jaime.” Bart sounded frazzled. “I got a call from the school. Melanie got into a fight and they’re sending her home, but I don’t get out for another two hours and I can’t reach Kon or my cousin. I know I’m asking a lot again, but–”

“ _Cálmate, bebé_. I don’t mind. I still have it in my GPS.”

Bart sighed in relief on the other end. “I owe you one, babe.”

“It’s no problem, promise. I’ll text you when I get there. Where should we go while waiting for you?” Jaime asked.

“I don’t think it’s her lunchtime yet. Maybe… I dunno, McDonald’s or something? I’ll meet y’all there. Also, if she asks, the code word is ‘peanut butter’.”

So that was how, five minutes later, Jaime found himself waiting at an agonizingly long stoplight in front of an elementary school. That gave him time to form a game plan. He wasn’t Melanie’s legal guardian, and he had no idea what to do if a child misbehaved. His mother used to give him _la chancla_ but Jaime possessed neither the desire nor authority to do the same. However, neither he nor his sister ever got sent home for doing something.

Jaime groaned, resting his forehead on the steering wheel until someone honked him from behind.

It took him forever to find the front desk because it wasn’t even at the front of the school (seriously, who designed that?). When he did, he was met with Melanie and a same-aged boy sitting in chairs several feet apart from each other. The boy held an ice pack to his eye and the girl was plain scowling.

“Hello,” he said to the receptionist, “My name’s Jaime Reyes, I’m here to pick up Melanie Allen.”

“Are you her legal guardian?” the middle-aged woman asked.

“No, but her guardian sent me.”

The desk worker muttered something about this being above her pay grade before saying, “Take a seat, Mr. Reyes. The principal will be with you in just a moment.”

Jaime sighed exasperatedly. He came in expecting to just sign a piece of paper and get out, but now he had to have a parent-teacher conference? He wasn’t even the parent! But Bart asked and Jaime wasn’t about to turn back on his word. 

Plus, the kid was kind of cute when she was pouty.

Jaime leaned over and whispered to Melanie, “What happened?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the girl sneered. “Where’s my dad, anyway?”

“He’s busy, he told me to come get you.”

“I don’t believe you. What’s the code word?”

“Peanut butter.”

He noticed her knuckles were pink, the first bruises sprouting up, and then looked to the ice pack boy, and asked, “Did you punch him?”

“Yes,” Melanie replied, “but that’s only ‘cause he wouldn’t stop poking me and pulling my hair all morning. The teacher said to ignore it but I couldn’t!”

Jaime heard these stories enough times to know that direct punishment wasn’t the best solution. And again, he wasn’t her dad. He also knew that schools were terrible at being fair. 

So while waiting for the principal, Jaime filled his phone’s search history with queries like _“what to do if your kid gets in trouble”_ and _“how to defend your kid against other kids”_.

A door swung open and a man in a green suit looked to the children. “Mister McGinnis. Miss Allen. Where are your parents?”

“My dad says he can’t make it again,” the boy scoffed. 

Melanie jabbed a thumb at Jaime. “My dad sent a substitute.”

“Very well,” the principal said. “Come on in.”

Jaime followed into the office. College pennants and sports memorabilia filled the shelves. At the window was a row of obviously fake plants. The desk was in the middle, stacked with papers and a nameplate reading “G. Gardner”. 

“So,” the guy—Gardner—said. “We got reports from their teacher that Melanie hit Terry.”

Melanie protested, “But he was–”

The man cut her off. “You know the rules, Miss Allen. That’s your second infraction this semester, so that means you’re facing suspension.”

Jaime watched the six-year-old slink back and he spoke up. 

“If I may interrupt, Principal Gardner, I think you should hear Melanie’s side before punishing her.”

The principal glared at Jaime but motioned for the girl to speak.

“Terry wouldn’t stop poking me and pulling my hair ALL MORNING even though I told him to stop, and when I told the teacher she said to ignore it but I couldn’t ‘cause it hurt, like a lot,” Melanie said. “I only hit him ‘cause he was hurting me first.”

Jaime made a “you see?” motion. 

The principal turned to the boy. “Terry, is that true?”

“Yeah,” the kid said, “but all the boys do it. Why does it matter?”

“It matters ‘cause it HURT!” Melanie exclaimed, rubbing the spot on her hair that he pulled.

“I’m sure he meant it all in good fun. You know what they say: boys will be boys,” the principal said.

That got Jaime seeing red enough to slam his hand on the wooden desk.

 _“Boys will be held responsible for their actions,”_ he shot angrily.

“Mr. Reyes, you’re not even her guardian. I don’t think you can make a case.” The principal stood up to meet Jaime’s eyes, but the latter was still taller and more imposing.

“You’re teaching these kids that harassment and violence against each other is okay,” Jaime seethed. “Melanie told Terry to stop numerous times but he didn’t. That’s classifiably harassment. So unless you feel like drafting up a court case, I suggest you remove her suspension.”

Gardner gulped. “Y-yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

After that, Jaime guided Melanie out of the school. She tossed her My Little Pony backpack in the trunk and slid into the backseat (she tried to call shotgun but Jaime didn’t let her).

The ride to McDonald’s was silent and awkward, the air filled with overplayed pop music from the radio. Jaime wasn’t sure what to say to her. Children were impressionable. He feared saying the wrong thing and next thing he knew, she’d become a dictator or something. Worse, he feared making her cry. Oh, Bart would KILL him if he did that.

It was Melanie who said something first.

“People tell me if a boy is mean it’s because he likes me,” she said. “I don’t think Terry McGinnis likes me. He’s always tugging my hair and making fun of me for only having one parent. That doesn’t make me feel liked.”

Jaime pulled into the restaurant parking lot and squeezed his eyes shut, sighing quietly. This was probably the last conversation he expected to have today. When did Bart say he was gonna meet them again?

He got out of the car and helped her undo the seatbelt.

Melanie looked at him with big jade eyes and asked, “Is that what’s supposed to happen?”

Jaime bent down to her level, tucking a strand of orange hair behind her ear.

He said, “ _Chiquita_ , love should never hurt. Anybody who says otherwise is wrong, and maybe a little unlucky because they never experienced real love.”

She nodded in understanding.

Just then, Bart’s car pulled up. His hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and he looked exhausted despite it only being lunchtime. He greeted Jaime with a quick peck on the lips and Melanie with a hair ruffle.

“You’re a lifesaver, Jaime,” Bart said, running a finger through his auburn locks. “Now, how’s about something to eat? I’m starving.”

Jaime was already pulling out his wallet. 

He replied, “ _Sí_ , I’d like that very much.”

***

**[Come for dinner, I’m making spageti]**

The text popped up on Jaime’s phone in the middle of work and he didn’t even hesitate to send a “yes” followed by a heart emoji.

Perhaps the spelling error should’ve tipped him off, because when he entered the Allen apartment (they told him where the spare key was), Bart was in front of the TV with no indication of anything cooking in the kitchen.

Bart jumped. “Jaime, babe, this is a surprise.”

Jaime looked at Bart like he grew a second head. “Uh, what do you mean? You invited me.”

“One sec.” Bart left and returned in the blink of an eye, staring strangely at the phone in his hand. “Huh, apparently I did. You sit back, I’ll get something started.”

The younger man mumbled to himself, bewildered, as he retreated to the kitchen. 

Seconds later, Jaime was being dragged to one of the rooms by a three-foot-tall bundle of tutu and copper hair. 

“Come on, Jaime, we can play Pretty Princess Tea Party!” Melanie exclaimed excitedly. “Dad, I’m introducing him to all my dolls.”

From the kitchen, Bart chuckled. “Don’t forget Doctor Barbie. I think he’ll like her.”

The first thing Jaime noticed—and that was from years of having tea parties with his sister—was the stark lack of plastic teacups or neatly arranged stuffed animals. All the toys were still on shelves bolted to the pastel pink wall. A blue butterfly kite leaned against the corner. He spotted dirty laundry shoved under the bed and made a mental note to tell the girl to pick it up later. 

As soon as she closed the door, Melanie’s expression shifted from playful to dead serious. Suddenly, Jaime wondered if he should be fearing for his life. She pointed to the rug.

“Sit.”

Jaime obeyed.

From a toy chest, Melanie pulled out a short plastic sword. She pressed a button on the hilt and it lit up brightly, playing happy fantasy music. She nodded in approval, as if she had an arsenal and this was the only one that met her standards. After that, she found a red cape with a lightning bolt on the back and put that on too.

She began her regal monarch monologue.

“As you know, I was the one who invited you,” she said, pacing back and force in front of the man like a towering army general. “Tell me, Jaime, do you know what day it is?”

“Uh… Friday?”

“Wrong!” She pointed the sword at him, inches from his face. “It is your three-month-a-versary with my dad. I’m impressed. Most people don’t last this long.”

Melanie lowered the toy and said softly, “You make him happy. More happy than the others combined. And as his warrior princess, it’s my job to make sure he stays that way.”

He nodded and listened. She was a fireball, just like her father, and Jaime could only play along.

“To make sure of it,” she continued, “we need to set some ground rules.”

Melanie paused to drag over a plastic drawing easel. She flipped to a page with bad handwriting coupled with colorful crayon doodles.

“Rule number one,” she said, “I am his princess. You might be his boyfriend or even his husband if you’re lucky, but I am always his number one. Anyone who tries to dethrone royalty will have their heads cut off like Alice In Wonderland.”

Jaime stifled a laugh, but understood the point. “Yes, your highness. I am but a simple peasant compared to you.”

She flipped the page. “Rule number two: all candy belongs to me.”

Jaime nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

Melanie flipped to the last page, with a large crayon doodle of the family duo and words written on top in big red warning letters: **“RULE #3: DO NOT HURT MY DAD”**. Jaime’s breath caught as he looked from the board to the girl.

“Last, but most importantly: you are not allowed to make my dad angry or sad or anything that’s not happy.”

Her face was the face of a daughter who spent too many nights listening to her father cry in secret. A child who saw partners come and go, all claiming they’d stay faithful but never following through. A little girl who watched helplessly as the most important person in her life got his hopes lifted and crushed repeatedly. Jaime wanted nothing more than to pull her into a hug and promise her that he would be the last person to ever see that drawing board.

“Mel…” his voice trailed off as he watched her dig around for one more item.

She held out a Spider-Man comic book and said, “I saw this in one of those lawyer shows. Put your hand on the book.”

Jaime did as he was told.

“Now say ‘I’ and then your name–”

“I, Jaime Reyes–”

“Promise to be loyal, faithful, and true–”

“Promise to be loyal, faithful, and true–” (Even if he was swearing on a comic, he meant every word.)

“Or else you’ll be beat up by everyone in my dad’s contacts.”

“Or else I’ll be beat up by everyone in your dad’s– wait, what?”

There was a knock at the door before it opened.

“Your Shovel Talk Spaghetti is done,” Bart said.

Melanie hopped up, tossing the comic aside, shouting, “I CALL ALL THE MEATBALLS!”

As she ran off, Bart asked Jaime, a smile on his face, “She didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did she?”

Jaime laughed and shook his head. “Not at all.”

He pressed his lips to Bart, drinking in the way they both smiled into the kiss, lingering longer than a casual peck. 

“Ew, gross,” a tiny voice piped in. “Rule number four: no giving each other cooties.”

***

Jaime didn’t mind groceries, even if he had to carry them five floors because the elevator wasn’t working. It meant he could have conversations and steal kisses from Bart without worrying about the door opening in the middle.

He didn’t mind the late nights, doing the dishes, because he had a bed full of Bart waiting for him (even if they had to keep it down and lock the door). 

And he didn’t mind helping around the house. The Allens quickly learned they’d been missing out because Jaime was the superior cook. It wasn’t long before his evenings were met with two redheads begging for his enchiladas or packing everyone’s lunches the next morning. Candlelit dinners turned into family taco night. Coffee dates melded into picking Melanie up from school afterward like clockwork and driving her to skating practice, singing along to KidzBop on the way. 

The move was gradual. No “do you wanna move in with me?”. Just Jaime’s things slowly appearing in Bart’s drawers and him sleeping over one day at a time. A sweatshirt draped over the couch here, a medical textbook on the coffee table there. When his own lease was up, Jaime simply picked up his last few possessions, big his landlord adieu, and moved in with his family.

Family.

 _Familia_.

The thought of being a parent still terrified Jaime but the practice came all too easily whenever he helped with a math problem or went to a recital. He swelled with joy and pride and everything. 

It felt right, as days turned to months that bled into the new year. Snow fell and they cuddled with cocoa. Then it melted and Jaime had to beg Bart not to buy the ugly Hawaiian-print shirt. They had birthdays and bad days and toes-in-the-sand days and things-getting-out-of-hand days and Jaime finally understood what folks meant by “ride or die”.

He waited outside the now-eight-year-old’s school, along with the other parents on the last day. Jaime looked around at the bunch mostly composed of moms, overhearing them complaining about their children’s fathers’ lame excuses for not showing. 

Their loss, Jaime thought.

He looked up from his watch—the sparkly bedazzled one—to see the little redhead sprint out the front doors, faster than all the other students, the ponytail Jaime made flapping behind like a long ribbon. 

She was already talking at supersonic speed by the time she jumped into his arms for a hug. 

“We made Father’s Day cards today ‘cause we don’t have school on actual Father’s Day and Ms. Cruz said to wait to give it but I haaaaaate waiting so yeah. Check it out!”

She held up two cards, one red and one blue, excess glitter still falling off.

“Your dad’s extra lucky,” Jaime remarked. “He gets double the gifts.”

“The red one’s for Dad,” she said. “The blue’s for _mi papá_.”

Jaime choked back a sob as he took the construction paper card from her, decorated in glitter and pom-poms.

“It’s beautiful, _mijita_.”

Melanie was already focused on something else in the seconds it took Jaime to compose himself again and tuck the card somewhere safe.

“Dad said he’ll meet us at the park, right?” she asked.

“Sí, the kite’s in the car,” Jaime replied. “We’re gonna crush that Family Kite Flying competition.”

She cheered, “Heck yeah!”

They high-fived and tossed her school things in the back to ignore until September. Melanie tried to sit in the front, but Jaime reminded her she was still too young.

“Not ‘til you’re at least twelve,” was what he said, playfully rolling her eyes at her pout.

***

“She gets that from me.”

That earned Jaime some strange looks (or amused, in Bart’s case) from the other parents at the barbecue. 

The kids were playing at their table, rowdy and messy like expected. Everyone had gathered to watch a long overdue arm wrestle between Melanie and another classmate named Helena Wayne. And when the Allen girl won, Jaime was the first to claim it as a trait from his side.

He swore he heard a blonde woman—Bart’s high school friend, Cassie—say to the younger man, “That one’s a keeper”, but it was too quiet among the loud outdoor party to be certain.

“I know,” Bart said with a smile, throwing an arm around Jaime’s shoulders before planting a kiss on the brunet’s cheek as the latter blushed.

The people around them—Bart’s friends, mainly, because Jaime’s were back in El Paso—all awwed. One of them—the rich one, Tim, if Jaime remembered correctly—offered to pay for the wedding.

Among the chatter, a tiny cough caught his attention. Bart heard it too, because they looked at each other at the same time. 

Just then, one of the other girls ran to the adults, talking super fast and gesticulating like a madman.

“Jackie, babygirl, slow down,” Cassie said. “What’s going on?”

“Mellie got stung by a bee and now she doesn’t look good. Like really really not good,” the Drake-Sandsmark girl said.

Bart was already off, zipping across the grass at record speed. Jaime shoved his drink into Tim’s hands and ran after.

Of course, Bart got there first. The other children cleared off, flocking to their parents.

Jaime recognized the splotchy skin and wheezing from his countless ER shifts.

“I think she’s having an anaphylactic reaction,” he said. “Bart, is she allergic to bee stings?”

“Not that I knew of,” Bart replied, panic rising in his voice. “What do we do?”

Adrenaline coursed through Jaime’s veins as he dialed 911. “She doesn’t have an EpiPen so we gotta get to the hospital ASAP. You go with her, she needs her father. I’ll meet you guys there.”

Bart shuffled back and forth in the lobby and there was nothing Jaime could do to calm his boyfriend’s nerves. Not that he wasn’t also internally freaking out. The doctor said she’ll be fine and it was good that they got her help right away, but Jaime couldn’t help it as guilt stewed in the pits of his stomach.

He was a doctor. He’d been with the Allens for a while now. Why didn’t he take Melanie to get an allergy test? Or at the barbecue, why didn’t he watch when the bee was about to sting her? Why didn’t he carry his emergency tools from work?

Lost in thought, Jaime didn’t even notice Bart pause his pacing to place a hand on his waist.

“Darling,” Bart said. “You’re overthinking again.”

He slid into the chair next to Jaime, taking his hand. 

“I’m fine, just worried,” he replied (not a lie, because he was worried).

Bart lightly caressed Jaime’s cheek. “I am too, but there’s something else bugging you. I can see those gears turning in that big head of yours.” He bopped the older man’s nose.

“It’s just… _Díos_.”

Jaime sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m not ready to be part of a family. I don’t belong here. Especially not as a… as a father.”

Bart tilted Jaime’s chin up to look into his eyes. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Just look at right now!” Jaime voiced, waving around at the hospital. “If I got her tested or something before, she wouldn’t be here.”

“True, but that goes for me too,” Bart said. “And she wouldn’t be here if you didn’t act as fast as you did, either.”

The trueness of those words hit Jaime like a ton of bricks. 

The younger man continued, moving his hand to the nape of the older one’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “Jaime, you’ve done more than anyone could ever ask in the short time we’ve known each other. Nobody is ever ready, but what matters is that you’re willing. Kids like Melanie crash into our lives unexpectedly and give us a reason to try.”

Bart’s other hand squeezed Jaime’s.

“Melanie loves you. _I_ love you. You’re part of us. Understood.”

Jaime squeezed back. “I think I do.”

Their lips met for a short second before being interrupted by a doctor clearing her throat.

“Family of Melanie Allen?”

Both men leaped up in unison.

Bart laced his fingers with Jaime’s. “We’re her fathers.”

“She’s doing very well, recovering much faster than we’ve seen for most patients. And she’s asking for you,” the woman said.

Bart looked at Jaime. “Let’s go see our little girl.”

" _Sí_ ," Jaime agreed. "As a _familia_."


End file.
